


Ah, Love, This is Fear

by OrangeScript



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (In the alternate dimension), Alternate Universe, Auror James Potter, But they're doing their best, Dimension Travel, Dumbledore's Army, Give James and Harry a break, Gryffindor Harry Potter, Harry meets his parents, Hufflepuff Draco Malfoy, James Potter & Lily Evans Potter Live, Marauders Maraud, No Bashing, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Harry is gay, Temper Tantrums, They're stressed boys, Yes things are different here, Zuko style redemption arc, angsty Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23872819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeScript/pseuds/OrangeScript
Summary: Head Auror James Potter is at his wit's end as he struggles to find the security leak in his department and to unravel the puzzle of his enigmatic son, (who has never been the same since Voldemort kidnapped him as a child... and then inexplicably let him go). James is always one step behind, though, and in these dark times, catch-up is a dangerous game to be playing.Enter a boy claiming to be Harry Potter, a boy who is nothing like the son James raised-- an unrefined, raw, wild boy with his hackles up and a scar on his temple, a boy who refuses to look him in the eye, who seems more terrified of his own mother than the Cruciatus Curse, and who seems to only trust Severus Snape, of all people.Harry, for his part, wishes the Death Eaters would just kill him already instead of torturing him with these paltry parodies of his dead parents. But he's determined to end this war once and for all, one way or another. And he's not the only one.(AU/Dimension Travel fic! Hopefully a new take on this beloved trope :))
Comments: 70
Kudos: 232
Collections: Delightful Dimension Travel





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this first chapter's sorta an introduction to the AU?
> 
> Our canon Harry (whom we'll meet next chapter) is more of a canon-ish Harry (AU from 6th bookish onwards? so post-Dumbledore's death, but Snape's still alive and knows about the horcruxes, and Harry knows that Snape's on the Order's side)
> 
> Hope you enjoy and please let me know your thoughts :) (also stay safe and healthy, loves!)
> 
> (*Title is from the Robert Hass poem!)

"Lils, I'm home!" James Potter stomped his feet and brushed half-heartedly at his hair with one hand to rid himself of the remnants of ash and floo powder from his commute. His head ached something awful. Trudging tiredly out of the fireplace in the living room towards the kitchen, he flung his cloak, briefcase, and Auror badge onto the worn sofa. It had been a long, horrible day, and he just wanted to see his wife and kids. "Lily?" He paused in the open archway of his kitchen, and then smiled wanly at the sight of his wife, slumped at the kitchen table, her dark red hair obscuring her face and the papers scattered across the tabletop, her cheek pillowed in the open pages of a book as she snored rather loudly.

He chuckled to himself, enjoying the adorable picture of his dozing wife, before pushing the sleeves of his uniform shirt up and turning dutifully to the cupboards to attempt to construct the evening meal.

When Lily woke, sooner than he would have hoped, he was elbow-deep in a large bowl of spaghetti. He grinned at her as she stirred, stretched, and peeled off a piece of parchment from her cheek, before turning her attention to her husband.

She took in his predicament and then rolled her eyes at him, though the corners of her lips ticked up slightly. "What've you gotten yourself into, Mr. Potter?" She demanded, her fond tone belying the stern look she threw his way.

His grin turned sheepish as his hands continued to squelch around in the spaghetti. "Dropped my wedding ring," he explained, shrugging defensively in answer to her incredulous look.

She pulled her wand out of her waistband and pointed it at his spaghetti, " _Accio James's ring!"_

The ring popped up from the depths of the spaghetti bowl, spattering James with sauce as it broke the surface, before soaring to Lily's outstretched hand. He blinked in surprise at the gob of red sauce on one lens of his glasses, and Lily laughed, suddenly in front of him, pulling off his glasses and then kissing him on the cheek, right on top of another splash of sauce. She ran her tongue over her lips critically, her blurry face laughing at him as he squinted at her, hands still buried in spaghetti.

"Not bad," she declared, before re-settling his glasses on his face, _scourgify_ ing them, and then rewarding him with another kiss, this time right on his lips.

James smiled into her lips and eagerly leaned forward to deepen it, when he was interrupted by a childish shriek- "EWWW!"

They broke apart instantly to regard the scandalized face of their newly-arrived four-year-old.

"EWW!" Franklin repeated, looking up at them with wide eyes. James winked at him.

"Move, Squirt," sounded from behind the little boy, and before either parent could protest, Franklin was shoved unceremoniously out of the way, and they were looking at a tall, gangly teenage girl in a worn Harpies jersey and keeper gloves, her auburn hair pulled haphazardly into a braid. "Hi Dad," she grinned, and James couldn't help but grin back at his only daughter.

"Hey Champ."

"Ivy Potter, apologize to your brother this instant!" Lily ordered.

Ivy only rolled her eyes and then tousled her brother's hair good-naturedly. "Sorry, Squirt," she said easily, before observing her father's activities with a quirked eyebrow. "Killing our dinner for us, Dad?"

Franklin's eyes grew round again as he stuck his face out from behind his mother's leg. "DAD DON'T KILL THE SPAGHETTI!" He demanded.

Chuckling, James withdrew his hands from the spaghetti bowl and moved to the sink to wash the sauce from his hands. Ivy followed him immediately, and he listened to her over his shoulder as she chattered away about a new Quidditch move she'd been working on.

"Ivy, where's Harry?" Lily interrupted, joining them at the sink and then fussing with her daughter's messy braid, even as Ivy scrunched up her nose in fond impatience, and Franklin trailed behind his mother with an arm wrapped around her leg and a thumb in his mouth.

Neither parent missed the way the expression on Ivy's face darkened considerably.

"Holed up in his room, I expect," she answered crossly.

"Had a row, did you?" James asked, concerned. His eldest son had always been a bit... _different._ The only Slytherin in a house full of Gryffindors, Harry was undeniably intelligent, like both of his parents, but quieter, colder, more calculating, and...withdrawn. His demeanor and behavior sometimes unnerved even his own parents. Of course, James couldn't blame him, for anything, really- _how could he?_ To this day he still didn't know what kind of hell his eldest son had been put through, what terrible things he'd seen and experienced, before being miraculously returned to their doorstep, eyes large and lost, all those years ago.

"We don't even need to, anymore," Ivy answered quietly, turning from both of her parents and grabbing a stack of plates to set the table.

Lily and James shared a look, before Lily sighed, softly to herself, detaching Franklin from her leg. "I'll get him," she offered quietly, swinging their youngest son up into James's arms and kissing the child's rumpled hair absently before leaving through the archway.

James listened to her footsteps on the stairs as he settled Franklin on his hip, his brow furrowed as he thought of his eldest son and fought off the headache that had been haunting him all week. "Now, now, Little Man," he addressed his youngest, his voice gently scolding as he attempted to finagle his wedding ring on again while still holding his son. "What've we said about sucking your thumb like that?"

…

They were all seated with the spaghetti and garlic bread that James had made and a dish of green beans laid out on the table—Lily had smiled approvingly when she'd seen him set down the vegetables, and Ivy had scrunched up her nose in her trademark look of distaste—when Harry finally slipped into the dining room, walking to the far end of the table and slouching into the seat furthest, James couldn't help but notice, from James himself.

"Glad you could join us, Harry," James said, trying to make his voice sound pleasant.

Harry made no acknowledgment that he'd heard, his head bowed as he reached silently for a piece of garlic bread. Ivy rolled her eyes, chomping down on her own bread, and Lily looked up from where she was heaping green beans onto Franklin's plate to give her husband a sad, sympathetic smile.

"How was work, James?"

His mood instantly darkened, and he noticed Harry tense, from across the table.

James put down his fork, and, took off his glasses, suddenly feeling exhausted again as he kneaded his forehead in his hand, unconsciously mirroring the bowed posture of the son across from him.

"What is it, Dad?" Ivy asked in concern.

"It's not good," James sighed. "We've got a security leak—"

Lily and Ivy both made sounds of concern and dismay, and Franklin looked up at them all with vague inquisitiveness on his sauce-covered face, swinging his legs and slurping at his meal.

Only Harry was unmoving, still hunched over his plate, but, James noticed, the knuckles of the fists wrapped around his knife and fork were white.

"I'm in charge of figuring it out and fixing it. I've done everything I could think of," James said, scrubbing tiredly at his face. "Switched things up last minute, switched up teams, people, turned the place upside down and ripped everything apart trying to figure out the leak, but I just don't know—"

"Don't be an idiot, Dad."

Everyone startled when the voice issued from the far end of the table, and James looked up to meet Harry's face, pale and drawn, his green eyes burning with anger as he stared down his father.

"Think, damn it." Harry hissed, ignoring Lily's indignant reprimand. "Who was the common denominator? Who had access to the information every time?"

James blinked at his son, his astonishment starting to wean into anger— "No one." He snapped, returning his son's glare. "Don't you think I've asked myself that already? No one had access to the plans, the routes, the information, the switches, every time— _no one_!"

But Harry had raised a sardonic eyebrow, his lips twisted into an awful sneer, and James looked at him, confused, feeling like he was missing something very, very important. Abruptly he sat back, a sudden, terrible thought occurring to him—"No one except me."

Somewhere, Lily gasped, but James only had eyes for Harry, searching his son's face, desperately hoping he was wrong. Their son had always shown a particular aptitude in the Mind Arts. "Harry, tell me it's not true," he demanded. "You didn't—you couldn't've—you _wouldn't_ —" James realized that he had no idea what Harry would or wouldn't do. Suddenly he couldn't breathe.

His son said nothing, but the ugly, twisted sneer was all the confirmation he needed.

James got to his feet abruptly, his chair falling behind him with a thud. Lily was saying something in a low tone, and Ivy was protesting, but it felt like they were far away. The blood was pounding in his ears and boiling in his veins as he stared at the boy across from him, suddenly consumed with the thought that he didn't really know him at all. "We lost good people," he whispered, his voice slightly hysterical. "Merlin, Harry. Dedalus Diggle, Hestia Jones? Dora Tonks is still in the hospital!"

The windows were rattling, the dining table itself was trembling, the dishes on it clattering, and Harry hadn't moved, hadn't risen, still sat slouched across from him, smirking at his show of temper, and James truly felt, for the first time, absolutely out of control. Lily's sharp voice ordered Ivy to take Franklin upstairs, and James felt her grasp his arm, probably trying to get him to calm down, but he felt worlds away from her.

" _Is it true_?" He thundered. Harry cocked his head mockingly, and James didn't see _Harry_ , he saw _Death Eater._ James lunged across the table.

Lily gasped, her hold on his arm tightening, her other hand scrabbling with the front of his shirt as she squeezed herself in front of him, as if trying to block the sight of Harry from him with her body as she pleaded with him, trying to get him to calm down.

Harry merely smirked, and whatever semblance of sanity he'd been clinging to, James abruptly lost.

"Let go of me, Lily," he growled, lunging, once again, for Harry, but Lily clung to him determinedly, blocking his path as he tried to force past her, trying to soothe him but only babbling in her panic.

In the chaos none of them heard the whoosh of the Floo and the hurried footsteps of two guests who, drawn to the sound of raised voices, had rushed to the kitchen.

"Prongs!"

" _Merlin, James_!"

He barely had time to react to the two new voices before he was tackled from behind and yanked from Lily's grasp, his two friends wrenching his arms behind his back.

He was shaking with rage, now, and he fought against their restraining holds.

"Stop it, Prongs," Sirius hissed in his ear, shaking him roughly. "Do you hear me? Cut it out. You're upsetting Lily."

It was true. Lily was crying, now, hugging herself, and normally this would have been more than enough to snap James out of whatever mood he was in, but he felt like he'd crossed to somewhere beyond where her tears could reach him.

Looking at the smirking face of his son he very well could've been looking at a stranger. And he was angry; _Merlin_ , he was so fucking _angry_. Because this was his son, his beautiful, innocent, firstborn son, and they'd turned him into a stranger, a smirking Slytherin _stranger_ on the wrong side of a goddamn _war_. And it was so fucking unfair, but _Merlin_ , he'd given Harry a pass for his entire life because it was his _baby_ , his _poor baby_ , but this was more than just his family. Merlin, people had lost their lives. Jones and Diggle, last week, and _Merlin, why?_

But all he could see was that goddamn smirk, and all he could think about was finding Hestia last week on patrol, lying bent and broken on the sidewalk, her robes all torn and bloody, and he felt a boiling rage flood through him, throbbing, pounding in his aching skull.

Across the room Harry slid back from the table, gracefully rising from his seat, and crossed the floor to stand before his shaking father. James felt Sirius and Remus tighten their holds on him.

" _Get out_." James hissed. " _GET OUT!_ "

But Harry just smiled, and leaned in very close, and said softly, so only James could hear. "Out of your house? Or out of your head?"

"No, Harry," Lily reached for their son, looking at James with wide, pleading eyes. "He doesn't mean it, do you, James?"

"Of course I mean it!" James roared. "Of course I fucking mean it! I won't have traitorous Death Eater scum under my-"

He felt his head whip to the side as a sharp pain bloomed in his cheek, and he swung his head back around to see Lily, her bright green eyes, so like Harry's, burning fiercely in her pale face, even as her lip trembled, and tears leaked from her eyes. "How dare you speak to our son like that?" She whispered, cradling the hand she'd slapped him with. " _How dare you?"_

"Have you got him?" James heard Sirius ask in a low voice from behind him.

After Remus's answering grunt, Sirius relinquished his hold on James and stepped out towards Harry: "Harry, c'mon, we'll stay at my place tonight until everyone's cooled down-"

Harry cut him off. "Thanks, Padfoot, but it's alright; I'll stay with Gin."

James watched as Harry reassured Sirius that he was, in fact, certain, before departing, Sirius walking him to the living room.

Remus loosened his grip. James knew he was still shaking, but he felt as if the temperature in the room had cooled several degrees, and when he breathed in, deeply, his head pounding as it had all week, he felt exhausted, like the fuel of his rage had burned off.

When he opened his eyes again, Sirius was reentering the kitchen. He met James's eyes with his own, grey and unreadable, before breaking the gaze and going over to Lily, who immediately and unhesitatingly burrowed herself into his welcoming arms.

James, distantly, felt something in him break at the sight.

Sirius escorted Lily out of the kitchen, one arm around her shoulders, speaking quietly to her, and Remus finally released James entirely.

With a flick of his wand, Remus righted James's fallen chair, and with another, James felt his knees buckle and he fell into the chair with a plop.

Remus regarded him with a sympathetic expression, and then offered him a bar of chocolate, produced, seemingly, from nowhere.

James blinked at it, finally giving into the exhaustion and the throbbing in his head as he slumped back in his seat, feeling the rage and adrenaline of earlier well and truly ebb away.

"Tea?" Remus asked, already filling a kettle.

James just buried his head in his hands and nodded, feeling ancient.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we encounter a familiar face

Sirius took a sip of his Firewhiskey and relished the burn in the back of his throat. _Sirius, I think I have to arrest him_ , James had said, his eyes desolate.

Dinner at the Potters’ hadn’t gone at all how he’d expected, though once James had explained it, the scene he’d witnessed at least made some sense. When he’d walked in through the Floo to the sounds of shouting and crying, his heart had leapt into his throat, and he’d been sure he would see his best friend’s family dead or injured or fighting off Death Eaters. Instead he’d seen James lunging for Harry like a madman and Lily shielding her son with her body.

It had brought back memories. Memories he’d never before associated with James. Memories that had made his blood run cold. Walburga had never gotten in front of Sirius like that, but Regulus had, once, and he’d paid for it dearly.

“Black.”

“Snape,” Sirius brought himself out of his thoughts and nodded somewhat uncertainly at the newly arrived man, still astonished at being on somewhat civil terms with Severus bloody Snape.

“Well?” Snape raised an impatient eyebrow, sliding into the booth with a full tankard. “I’m _assuming_ I’m not risking my cover to be your drinking buddy?” He sneered.

“No,” Sirius bit out with some difficulty. “It’s Harry.” He glanced around briefly, and then leaned forward. “Has he been in contact with…your _friend_ …lately?”

“By ‘my friend’ I am assuming you’re referring to the Dark Lord?” Snape drawled. At Sirius’s furtive looks around the noisy bar, Snape sneered and waved a lazy hand. “Relax, Black, I cast privacy charms as soon as I saw you.”

“Well, do you know anything?” Sirius pressed.

Snape rolled his eyes. “They have not been in contact that I know of. But the Dark Lord never talks openly about Potter, at least not to me. I know he has a special interest in the boy, but I am not sure anyone knows the exact nature of their association. Why do you ask?”

“I think Harry’s been funneling information to Voldemo—”

“ _Don’t_ _say his name,_ _you imbecile,_ there’s only so much a privacy charm can do—”

“Fine,” Sirius growled. “DMLE’s been dealing with a major security leak. Earlier tonight James found out Harry’s been taking the information from his head.”

Snape’s eyebrows drew low over his black eyes. “You’re saying the Head Auror’s Occlumency shields are so flimsy that a _child_ can infiltrate them—?”

“He’s seventeen,” Sirius defended, teeth gritted. “He’s of age.”

“He’s _not even out of Hogwarts_ ,” Snape hissed. “Every day I lose more faith in our government,” he muttered under his breath.

“Well maybe _someone_ shouldn’t have taught _Legilimency_ to the Head Auror’s suspicious kid who has an unknown relationship with _You-Know-Who!”_ Sirius hissed back, knowing that he was not being fair.

“Don’t try to turn this on me, Black,” Snape said dangerously. “You and Potter _begged_ me to teach him. Perhaps if the two of you hadn’t _lost_ the kid in the first place, he wouldn’t have an _‘unknown relationship with You-Know-Who_ ,’” Snape mimicked, pitching his voice high.

“He was kidnapped,” Sirius said tightly, trying to keep his temper under control. “We…put our trust in the wrong people.”

Snape snorted derisively at that and drained his mug. Sirius determinedly did not react.

“I’ll keep an eye out for any sign of Potter,” Snape conceded after a beat.

Sirius gave a jerky nod in thanks and stood up to leave.

“What are you going to do with him?” Snape asked suddenly, and Sirius remembered that Snape was Harry’s Head of House and that Lily had once declared the man to be decidedly fond of her son… something that Snape had not denied.

Sirius sank back into his chair. “He’s staying at Molly and Arthur’s. I sent word for none of the senior Order members to be in the same room as him.”

“A highly temporary solution,” Snape sneered. “I suppose it would be too much to hope that you’ve come up with a long-term arrangement?”

“Well if you’ve got any suggestions, I’m all ears,” Sirius ground out. “James thinks he has to arrest him. I’m not sure what other options we have…There aren’t a lot of Order members who are Master Occlumens. James is one of the few who is proficient at it because of Auror training—”

Snape sneered again.

Sirius ignored it and continued doggedly on: “Dumbledore is still away for who-knows-how-long. _You’re_ not an option, obviously, because of _You-Know-Who,_ and James says that Tonks has decent shields, but she’s still in St. Mungo’s—”

“Lily’s shields are good,” Snape interrupted with the barest trace of pride.

“How good?” Sirius pressed. “She mentioned that she had some training, but she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough, and James didn’t even _feel_ Harry in his head.”

“It is likely that Harry is a stronger Legilimens than she is an Occlumens,” Snape admitted reluctantly after a moment of contemplation. “Shacklebolt?”

“Can’t risk it,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “He’s too valuable.”

“Minerva’s an Occlumens.”

“Is she?” Sirius asked excitedly, leaning forward. “That’s perfect!”

Snape shook his head, his sallow face pinching. “Is it? Do you really see Harry Potter agreeing to be shipped off to live with the Transfiguration professor he’s barely exchanged two words with?”

That… was a good point, actually. Sirius deflated.

“Minerva and I can keep an eye on him at school,” Snape said slowly, his black eyes shrewd. “As for holidays, well, I think it is clear what you have to do.”

“It doesn’t feel like you’ve made it clear at all, actually,” Sirius grumbled.

“You said it yourself,” Snape intoned harshly. “He’s of age. Not to mention the beneficiary of a sizeable trust. He’s perfectly capable of living on his own.”

Sirius felt his stomach drop. “You want us to turn him out on the street? Disown him?”

“He’s a security risk, Black,” Snape snapped. “We’re at war, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Yes,” Sirius agreed caustically. “Great plan. In fact, let’s just deliver him right into You-Know-Who’s arms! Shall we gift wrap him as well?”

“It very well might drive him to the Dark Lord,” Snape acknowledged waspishly, “But if it does, I will know. And I can keep an eye on him. You can arrest him, but I doubt you have enough evidence. Mind magic is notoriously difficult to prosecute. Even if he was foolish enough to use his own wand to cast _Legilimens_ , you can’t prove that he cast it on James. You arrest him and I guarantee Lucius Malfoy has him out within the hour and then he _definitely_ goes straight to the Dark Lord.”

“Where you’ll keep an eye on him,” Sirius recited, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Snape was right, he realized. Sirius could feel the heat drain out of him, leaving him with a hollow pit of guilt and resignation in his stomach. “All of these plans seem to hinge on your eyesight,” he sniffed half-heartedly, “I really hope you’ve seen an oculist recently.”

Sirius swore Snape almost smirked at that.

…

A few not-quite companionable minutes and a trip to the loo later, Sirius exited the bar from the back into the quiet, slightly dodgy-looking alley where he used to engage in the occasional snog session (or twelve) when he was younger.

There was a sudden, startling whoosh of air, like a miniature tornado, and then suddenly a body attached to a very familiar head of black hair was scrambling up from the ground.

“Harry!” Sirius called, surprised by the boy’s sudden appearance.

The messy-haired head ducked as if on reflex, and then the boy spun to face him, wand up, eyes wild, putting his back to the solid wall behind him.

Harry seemed to do a double take when he saw Sirius, clearly as surprised to see his godfather as Sirius was to see his godson, and then his eyes narrowed in obvious displeasure. Sirius winced internally, wishing he were not quite so familiar with this particular expression.

Other than the expression on his face, however, Harry looked wildly different from when Sirius had last seen him mere hours ago. Worryingly so, in fact. Harry had always been slight, but the boy standing in front of him looked downright underfed. His face and robes were dirty, his glasses cheap and barely held together with Spellotape, and he was littered with scars and bruises. He had the lean, mean, hungry look of a street dog and the defensive posture to match. The ready wand, the raised hackles, the feral look in his eyes… He looked like a caged animal. Sirius, taken aback, half-expected Harry to whine and gnash his teeth at him.

“Harry?” Sirius asked cautiously, raising his hands slowly. Sirius was holding his wand, but he held it between his pointer and middle finger, pressed flat against his palm and pointing upward to show he did not intend to attack. Harry tracked the movement aggressively. “Merlin, Harry, what’s happened to you?” Sirius asked, taking one concerned step forward as he caught sight of a gigantic dark bruise purpling half of his godson’s face.

He stopped abruptly in his tracks as Harry leveled a wand at Sirius’s chest.

“Don’t take another step,” Harry growled. His face was downright dangerous. “Who are you?” He demanded.

Sirius frowned. “Harry, it’s me, Sirius—” He cut off with a yelp as he ducked, barely dodging the hex the boy hurled at him.

 _“Don’t you speak his name!”_ Harry hissed, his face livid.

 _Whose name?_ Sirius wondered, completely confused. Harry’s name? It would make sense if he’d said ‘Voldemort’ again, as Snape had just chewed him out for that, but he hadn’t. “Harry, what’s— _Damnit Harry_ , I just want to talk,” he panted, having had to raise his wand to hastily block another snarled spell from his godson.

“You want to talk, huh?” Harry sneered, throwing another spell with a cry; Sirius barely managed to pull up a _Protego_ in time. “Let’s talk then,” Harry said, pressing forward and ruthlessly decimating Sirius’s shield with a violent purple shield-breaker hex. “Who are you? Dolohov? Rowle? Good effort, I suppose, but it’s a poor imitation.”

“Harry, please,” Sirius pleaded, scrambling away as Harry advanced on him, unwilling to attack his godson. They had nearly switched places; Sirius was backing toward the wall where Harry had begun his attack, and Harry stalked him, without putting his back to the door Sirius had exited. “It’s me, I swear, it’s me, Padfoot—”

Harry roared _“Crucio!”_ and Sirius threw himself out of the path of the bolt of red light, his blood freezing. “Don’t think I won’t kill you just because you’re wearing his face, you bastard—” Harry snarled.

The door to the bar swung open, hitting the stone wall with a thud and momentarily diverting Harry’s attention. Sirius took advantage of this to roll to his feet. His heart was pounding.

Sirius readied his own wand, prepared, this time, to attack, and chanced a sideways glance at the door. Snape stood on the threshold, wand raised and black robes billowing.

“I never thought I’d say this,” Harry said, his wand still trained on Sirius, “But Snape, thank god.” Sirius shared the sentiment.

Snape took in the scene with unruffled alacrity.

“He threw the Cruciatus at me,” Sirius informed Snape incredulously, panting, to let him know that Harry was a hostile.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

Surprising them all, Harry huffed out a laugh. “I’ve learned a thing or two since last year,” He said sheepishly. Sirius had no idea what he was referring to, and looked to Severus to see if he understood, but the other man’s face was, as always, unreadable.

Harry threw a stunner at Sirius, which he blocked. He noticed that Harry’s posture looked far more relaxed now, and he wasn’t angling his body to keep both Sirius and Snape in his eyeline, the way one would with two hostiles. So he trusted Snape, but not Sirius. Why? Because Snape was a Death Eater? But if he’d been in James’s head, it was possible that he knew Snape was working for the Order…

“I wish you’d warned me about this,” Harry said, gesturing to Sirius and blocking his _Incarcerous_. “It’s not Dolohov, is it? _Stupefy!_ ”

 _“Protego!”_ Sirius countered with effort.

“I would’ve thought Bellatrix, but he doesn’t fight like her— _Sectumsempra!_ ”

Sirius barely dodged the curse, and felt it hurtle past him, taking a good chunk of his hair with it. He shot a stunner and a Body-bind at Harry in rapid succession, but Harry blocked both, still apparently conversing with Severus Snape.

“Is Draco okay?” Harry asked. “And Ginny?”

“…To my knowledge, both are well,” Snape inclined his head from the doorway. He shot a look at Sirius, clearly asking if he should get involved. Sirius nodded, absorbing Harry’s _Diffindo_ to the chest in order to send another stunner at the boy.

Harry threw a _protego_ up faster than lightning, blocking Sirius’s stunner, but neglected to account for Snape, who was on the same side of the barrier as him.

Snape flicked his wand, a bolt of red light hit the boy in the side, and Harry collapsed bonelessly to the ground, the undeniably impressive _protego_ collapsing moments after.

Sirius and Snape shared a look.

“Do you require assistance?” Snape inquired stiffly, nodding curtly at Sirius’ bleeding chest.

Sirius shook his head and pressed his cloak to the cut with a hiss, staunching the bleeding, and then whispered a first aid spell. “It’ll keep for James or Lily,” he stated. The cut was long, but shallow, and he and Snape were not _quite_ there yet. “What do we do with him?” He gestured to Harry’s prone form, lying face down in the dirt. 

Snape shook his head, and approached the boy’s body, looking mystified. “Why did he attack you?”

“No idea,” Sirius grunted. “He kept yelling ‘don’t say his name’ but—”

“You said the Dark Lord’s name _again?”_ Snape interrupted sharply, his head snapping up from where he was examining Harry’s form and looking supremely irritated.

“No,” Sirius snapped. He’d been trying to be civil, but he was annoyed, in pain, and just as confused as Snape was. “I only said my name, and…Harry’s name, I guess. I have no idea what he was talking about. I don’t think he recognized me. He kept asking if I was Rowle or Dolohov.”

“You saw him earlier tonight?”

Sirius nodded shortly.

“And was he in this bad shape?” Snape asked as he rolled Harry over.

“You mean all the dirt and the bruising on his face, right? No, he didn’t have that before—” Sirius moved closer to look as Snape opened Harry’s robes and rolled up his tee shirt and sucked in a breath at what he saw. “Merlin…what happened to him?”

Sirius’s first instinct had been correct. The kid looked severely underfed and beaten; his abdomen was all ribs and mottled bruising. Snape ran his hands over Harry’s abused torso, frowning and muttering. Sirius recognized a couple diagnostic spells.

Sirius brushed a fringe of black hair off the boy’s forehead, trying to get a better look at the giant bruise on his face, and revealed a red scar, shaped like a lightning bolt. “ _This_ was definitely not there either,” he said matter-of-factly, calling Snape’s attention to it. “And he was always skinny, but this…” he gestured at Harry’s gaunt face and prominent ribs and couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just shook his head.

Snape nodded shortly, his black eyes shrewd.

Harry stirred, and Sirius froze, his finger still on the strange scar. He glanced up at Snape, whose frown had deepened.

“Impossible,” Snape said, seemingly to himself. “That was a strong stunner, and the kid is starved half to death. He shouldn’t wake naturally for an hour, at least, yet—” He broke off as Harry unmistakably stirred again.

“ _Petrificus Totalus_ ,” Snape tapped Harry on the chest, “Your house?” He proposed.

Sirius agreed. He was the Secret Keeper of Grimmauld Place, so he bent to whisper the address in a now-frozen Harry’s ear. He straightened.

“I trust you can apparate on your own.” Without waiting for an answer, Snape grabbed Harry and disapparated with a pop.

 _“Bastard,”_ Sirius grunted as he got to his feet, his mind whirring. He turned on the spot and felt the familiar sensation of being compressed into a small tube.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's not much, but hope you liked it! We got our first glimpse of Canon(ish) Harry! How do you feel about him? I'm writing him as 17 and not in Hogwarts but in a sort of AU from book 6 onward. So Dumbledore is dead and he and the squad are out hunting horcruxes together, but he knows Snape is an ally, (and Draco is also an ally; he had a redemption arc after Dumbledore died).   
> *Note: Idk how people feel about Harry using Crucio, but I feel like it's kind of on brand for him to throw it out when he gets really worked up about people he loves dying (like after Sirius died in 5 and after Dumbledore died in 6). 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this, hope you're all staying safe and well, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!!
> 
> Love, OrangeScript


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which morning breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some violence in the beginning of this chapter! Also AU Harry being a dick in the latter half of this chapter.

When Harry first came to, he had the hazy idea that he had been rescued. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, so the entire world was a blur, but he heard a cheerful female voice that made him feel instinctively safe, and he saw a blur of red hair, something he had come to associate intrinsically with family.

He didn’t think too hard about it. If he had, he might’ve realized that the voice belonged to neither Molly nor Ginny, and that he didn’t know any other (living) redheaded women.

As it was, he drank the water that the blurry red woman provided, and even obediently swallowed down several bites of stew before passing out again, feeling warm and safe for the first time in several weeks.

The next time he woke up, he was decidedly less out of it, and was aware enough to scramble for his glasses when he caught sight of a blurry, tall shape in the doorway.

“Here,” a familiar voice said gruffly, and then his glasses were placed on his nose and the world came into focus.

A tall, handsome, achingly familiar man was towering over him, his wand pointed at Harry in open hostility. Harry instinctively scrambled backwards madly, and hit his head on the headboard of the bed he was occupying.

His eyes watered with the blow, but he didn’t move, surveying the man in front of him with anger, “You again.” 

The Sirius Black lookalike held him at wandpoint and surveyed him right back. “Me again,” he said mildly. And then, “He was right. The more I look at you, the less you look like him.”

Harry frowned, unable to decipher what that meant. However, as he continued to study the Sirius-imitator, he found he agreed with what the man said. The more he looked at him, the more obvious it was that it wasn’t Sirius. This man looked far healthier than Harry had ever known Sirius to be, far less gaunt and haunted than Harry’s godfather had been. His hair was thick and luscious, teeth straight and white, and he lacked the tattoos Sirius had collected in Azkaban.

Of course, he realized, you couldn’t Polyjuice into a dead person. This was probably the result of a series of painstaking human transfigurations, probably based off a portrait of Sirius from before Azkaban. Though it seemed like a lot of trouble to go to for a goal that was still unclear.

Still, it was not a bad imitation, Harry reflected. The imitator had managed to capture the proud cast of Sirius’s features perfectly, and the glow of health that this man had only accentuated the handsomeness of his godfather’s face. The overall effect of it all was, well, a Sirius who had never been to Azkaban.

Harry sucked in a breath as it hit him, and it hurt. Was this his new torture? Getting to glimpse the man Sirius would never get to be because of _him_? Because of Harry?

“Who are you?” The Sirius imposter demanded, twisting his wand threateningly in his hand.

Harry frowned, and looked down at his hands. He was pretty sure that Malfoy’s modified long-lasting Polyjuice had worn off towards the end of his two-week long captivity, which is what had necessitated his rescue in the first place. If the Death Eaters had known who they’d had under their noses…

Harry wondered what had happened to Malfoy, who had blown his cover to rescue Harry, to slip him a wand and thrust something in his hand— a portkey?— that sent him off to that random alley outside the bar, where Harry had stupidly gone and gotten himself captured _again_.

Harry blinked back the tears of frustration and focused on his hands. His hands were his own. He lifted a hand slowly to touch his forehead and felt his scar beneath his touch. He was Harry again. Which meant that someone was playing a game with him.

He let a mask of calm slide over him and looked up to meet the false Sirius’s hard gaze.

“I think you know who I am,” he said. “Who are you?”

Sirius’s frown deepened. He looked like he was about to say something, but there was a sound from outside the room and Sirius glanced away from Harry for a split-second.

Harry took advantage of the momentary distraction and pounced on him, catching the man by surprise and unbalancing him. He tackled him to the ground, snarling, and they wrestled. The man was larger and stronger, but Harry was running on the adrenaline and desperation of someone with nothing to lose.

Harry was finally able to wrest the man’s wand free. It went rolling, and Harry instinctively made to grab for it, which was a mistake.

Seizing the opening, the man was able to flip them, pinning Harry to the ground.

The door opened and there was a shout of “Padfoot!” Which made Harry snarl harder.

“I can’t get a clear shot,” The newcomer panted.

There were two of them, now. One of them armed, and Harry was wandless. Distantly, Harry realized he was likely not getting out of this, so he committed to cause the most damage he possibly could.

Harry thrashed, whipped his head up, and slammed it into the man’s face as hard as he could. He felt cartilage crush under his assault and was viciously pleased.

 _“Goddith, Ow—”_ the man swore and Harry seized the moment to sink his teeth into the closest bit of flesh he could reach, biting down until he tasted blood and not letting go even then.

The man thrashed on top of him like a fish, gasping in pain, and blood filled his mouth but Harry still didn’t let up.

He didn’t let up until someone’s wand let out a flash of light and he flopped back down onto the ground, his vision going black.

* * *

When Ginny heard a repetitive tapping sound on her window in the middle of the night, she opened it expecting to find a very lost and stressed owl.

She sighed when instead she saw a possibly lost but supremely unstressed-looking Harry Potter, standing in the garden tossing pebbles at her window like a Muggle cliché.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,” he said drily, smiling cockily up at her. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed another pebble up at the now open window which she peered out of.

“What is that, a disease?” Ginny asked, swatting the pebble away before it hit her face and pretending not to feel the quick sting when it connected with the back of her hand.

She rolled her eyes, but inside, the part of her that couldn’t help but love this scary and broken man was so pleased that he had chosen _her_ , come to see _her_. “Well, come on up then, I guess, since you’ve come all this way.” She waved him up.

She was quite looking forward to him making a fool of himself trying to climb the trellis. Much to her disappointment, however, he sprung up onto it nimbly, and with a couple graceful upward strides, he was at the thatch of roof right outside her window in a matter of seconds.

“How did you even get here?” Ginny demanded, looking around for a broom. They were pretty far from the Potters’ place, even for a broom-ride, and Harry was apparently on foot.

“I flew,” Harry answered idly from the top of the trellis. He hoisted himself easily onto the roof.

“Where’s your broom?”

Harry rolled his eyes and threw a long leg past her into the window. He wagged his eyebrows at her, “Not everyone needs a broom to fly.”

Ginny pretended that that didn’t make her blood freeze. She knew what he was implying. _Voldemort_. Voldemort could fly.

“You know, he would say if I was a good boy and didn’t scream during the Cruciatus Curse he’d teach me to fly.” Harry grinned at her, and her stomach was churning so she couldn’t tell if his grin was mocking or hard. He laughed at her, and she let herself be pushed to the side as he levered himself through the window, his body brushing against hers.

Ginny didn’t know why he did this. He’d bring it up all the time, casually. How he’d spent a couple years held captive by Voldemort. No one knew what had happened. They didn’t talk about it, as a general rule, and Harry certainly wouldn’t give you an answer if you asked him about it, but he’d do this. Make off-hand remarks that chilled Ginny to the bone. And she would have to pretend she didn’t care if she wanted to hear any more.

Ginny pictured a tiny, scared Harry trying not to scream during the Cruciatus and wanted to cry. She shuddered, and pretended it was from the cold. She busied herself with shutting the window.

“So, _he_ taught you to… to fly?” She asked eventually, hesitantly.

She didn’t know if this was the only way he was able to process the trauma, or if he just did it to unnerve and disturb her, or if it was just Harry’s way of casually mentioning his childhood the way she’d mention her dad or her brothers.

She had a sudden memory of Arthur helping her onto a broom, his face kind and his hands gentle, even as Fred and George jeered at her, doing loops in the sky above her. She tried to picture Voldemort holding a broom handle steady for a young Harry to clamber onto and felt either a laugh or a sob build up in her chest.

“Oh, no,” Harry said, tossing another grin over his shoulder at her. He had crossed the room to her desk and bookshelf and was poking through her stuff with shameless interest, “But he did teach me the Cruciatus. If a Death Eater couldn’t make me scream, he’d have me Crucio them.”

…

If Ginny hadn’t been so bloody exhausted, she would’ve set an alarm and made sure Harry was either gone or lying on the floor a respectable distance away before anyone else woke up and discovered him in her bed.

As it was, she woke to a bright light shining directly in her eyes, Harry’s decidedly naked torso pressed up against her back; and her father, who was wielding the Lumos that was half-blinding her, and struggling to contain what Ginny was certain was apoplectic rage.

“He’s here, Molly,” Arthur called grimly out the door, extinguishing the Lumos with a whispered _Nox_ that reminded Ginny of nothing so much as the steam a dragon exhales from its nostrils.

Ginny struggled to sit up, kicking subtly at Harry’s legs behind her to make him release her. She choked down a yelp when he simply caught and trapped her leg between his. He refused to let her up, instead wrapping his arms more tightly around her and pulling her flush against his chest.

She knew he was just doing it to be annoying, and Ginny hated that her heart sped up and she felt warmth pool in her belly, even as she tensed, very aware of her father standing above them, wand ablazing.

Harry seemed to notice or at least guess the effect he was having on her because he chuckled into her shoulder blade, the rich sound vibrating against Ginny’s back. Ginny wanted to melt in mortification.

“Ginny,” Arthur said, his voice tightly controlled. “Get out of bed, please.”

“Morning, Mister Weasley,” Harry said lazily, and pressed a kiss onto the side of Ginny’s neck, which he followed up with a soft and indecent _“ahhh”_ sound that Ginny felt from her hairline right down to her toes. Judging by her dad’s pained face, he’d felt that sound acutely as well. “Hope we didn’t keep you up last night,” Harry said, smirking against her shoulder.

Ginny couldn’t see him, as he was behind her, but she would bet that he had winked. Her dad’s face looked like it was turning purple with the effort to control himself.

Ginny could feel Harry grinning behind her.

For a moment, she hated him. Harry knew how she had felt about him (still felt about him, honestly, even though she _knew_ now that it could never happen), and he just didn’t care. He would use her to get at her dad for no reason other than to piss him off, to make her dad feel powerless and angry while Harry sat there, calm and grinning, all the cards in his hand.

And then she remembered what he’d said last night, remembered that picture in her head of young Harry, eyes streaming as he bit his tongue trying not to scream as his little body was wracked by the Cruciatus Curse.

“Nothing happened, Dad, he’s just riling you up,” Ginny said, tapping on Harry’s arms, folded around her middle, to indicate that she would like to be released. Instead, one of Harry’s hands inched upwards to cup her breast. She slapped it lightly away, her face heating.

Her dad’s lips were pressed together in clear disbelief and anger, and Ginny closed her eyes, slightly hurt and feeling like an idiot. They were in bed together, obviously, Harry shirtless and cuddling and kissing her and clearly doing everything he could to encourage her father’s imagination. Who could blame her father for jumping to the obvious conclusions? But then again, she was sixteen. What business of her father’s was it if she had a boy in her bed? Who was her father to tell her what she could or couldn’t do with her body?

She gritted her teeth, the familiar feeling of anger and betrayal that he would _use her_ like this welling up within her. She and her father were _both_ riled up, dangling on Harry’s whim, puppets on his strings, singing and dancing at his command. She and her father shared fundamentally different beliefs on sex before marriage, something she _didn’t particularly want to get into right now_ but would if she had to.

Harry had primed them all up for a nice little fight that he could lay back and watch from the comfort of her bed. Because she was telling the truth, but there was no way she could assure her father of that fact without _outing_ Harry, and they both knew she would never do that. So here she was, trapped in Harry’s arms, teeth gritted, looking up at her purple-faced dad.

The image of little Harry, scared and crying, forced its way back into her mind and Ginny took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.

“Harry, let me up,” she ordered. Normally she would have tried to get free, but she was relatively certain that if she struggled, her father would take that as a sign to try to kill Harry.

“But I’m so comfortable,” Harry whined, nuzzling against her.

Arthur’s wand was out again in a flash. “I believe she told you to let her go, Mister Potter,” Her father’s voice was steel.

“Dad, it’s fine,” Ginny snapped. “Harry, please.”

There was a pause, and then Harry obeyed, lifting a leg to release her leg, trapped between both of his, and loosening his arms enough so that she was able to wriggle herself free and sit up.

Arthur relaxed only marginally.

“Nothing happened, Dad,” Ginny said firmly, meeting his eyes defiantly. “And if it had, it wouldn’t really be any of your business anyway.”

Still splayed out on the bed, Harry snorted. “I’d say nothing happened quite a few times, actually—”

“Shut the hell up, Harry,” Ginny snapped, her eyes not leaving her father’s. “Harry needed a place to stay. It was the middle of the night. I said he could sleep here. Is there a problem?”

Arthur’s nostrils flared, but he took a deep breath, and lowered his wand, clearly trying to calm himself down. “Unfortunately, there is,” he said.

“Ah, told you about that, have they?” Harry asked lazily from where he was still flopped onto the bed. He rolled himself onto his side, and the sheet fell away, revealing his bare torso. He smirked up at her dad.

Ginny frowned as her dad averted his eyes and stared resolutely at the opposite wall.

“That won’t help,” Harry said carelessly, sweeping a dismissive hand at him. “I don’t need eye contact. Fortunately for you, though, you haven’t really got much up there that’s of interest to me.”

He perked up, and Ginny already felt her stomach rolling with dread. “Although, maybe if you’ve got anything juicy, like Ginny in the bath—”

Arthur Weasley turned and looked Harry dead in the eye as he leveled his wand, once more, at his chest.

“Dad,” Ginny said placatingly.

“Ginny, get away from him right now,” Arthur ordered. His eyes were hard.

Ginny knew better than to argue with her dad when he was like this. Arthur Weasley was a hard man to anger, but when he did get angry it was idiotic to mess with him.

But Harry loved to mess with people.

She slid out of the bed, not looking at Harry, and felt embarrassingly naked in her tiny shorts.

“Dad, please,” she tried again.

“Ginny, go downstairs,” Arthur commanded, his eyes not leaving Harry.

She bristled at his tone and was deciding whether or not leaving would lead to either or both of the two men being murdered in her room, when the door burst open and Molly Weasley bustled in, bearing a breakfast tray and looking harried.

Her eyes darted around the room, rested briefly on Harry, and then she turned her head determinedly away from him, even as she approached him, brandishing the tray in front of her like an offering to a hostile animal.

“Here you go, dear,” She said, her voice strained, as she plopped the tray onto the bed. She didn’t meet Harry’s eyes.

“Thank you, Molly,” Harry said, turning a charming grin on her, “It looks delicious. And can I just say, you look beautiful today.”

“I—thank you, you’re welcome—” Her mother stuttered, glancing at him and then, stricken, glancing away just as quickly.

Ginny’s dad was glaring at him again, and Ginny prepared to intervene, while also trying to understand what was going on. Why would no one meet his eyes?

“Arthur, we should probably leave—” Molly addressed her husband in a hushed, but clearly-audible voice. She darted an anxious and slightly apologetic look towards where Harry, seemingly oblivious, was digging into his breakfast. “The message said not to stay in the same room as him…Just got another strange Floo-call from Sirius…Fred said he could help watch— I mean, _er_ , keep him company…”

“I’m not letting him out of my sight,” Ginny’s dad said tightly. He still hadn’t lowered his wand.

“What’s going on?” Ginny demanded. Her mother gave her a slightly wild look, and her dad’s eyes slid to her briefly, before his gaze went steadfastly back to Harry, who continued to enjoy his breakfast at wandpoint.

“Harry?” She demanded.

Harry looked up at her and gave her a beautiful lopsided grin. “Oh, didn’t I mention last night? I’m a wanted man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all liked that. Please let me know what you think! Legit comments are the only thing that inspire me to actually think about this universe and write. Thank you so much to everyone who has commented or supported me in any way!  
> If anyone's curious about canon Harry's backstory, I have a few ideas that I am still trying to solidify! I don't know how important it is going to be yet (my gut is saying not that important) but feel free to speculate or suggest. 
> 
> Additionally, I hope everyone is staying safe & healthy. If anyone wants to know about how they can get involved/ support the protesters, here's a link to a great compilation of resources!  
> [BlackLivesMatter](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/)  
> Edit: I realize that JKR's tweets are a thing, and I just want any trans people reading this to know that you are valid and you are legitimate and that I see you. Let me know if there's anything I can do. <3 Happy Pride Month, loves.


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